Dancefloor
by Neo.Natalie
Summary: In my defence: I HAD planned some plot... ended up being smut paired with smut... Enjoy anyways!
1. Chapter 1

Dancefloor

"And oh, I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive... And oh, I can fly, I can fly, I can fly!" Sherlock closed his eyes and just let his mind go blank, let his body move with the music. It felt so good not to think. All week long, he had been busy with The Work, but now the case was solved he needed some sort of release. And music was such a release. Loud, mindless music. Best mixed with drugs, if possible. Made him able to dance four hours and hours. Think nothing. Feel nothing. Just move with the music, deaf with the music, blinded by the lights.

"And I'm lovin' every second, minute, hour... Bigger, better, stronger, power!" Sherlock threw his fist in the air with the rest of the crowd. And he felt strong. An animal-like strength: stupid, basic, and oh so good. And for once he was one of the crowd, just like everybody else, average. He just used the crowd for his purpose, of course. Just used it to let off steam, to forget, to make space for new thoughts, for new cases. But they wouldn't mind. They never minded anything.

He only stopped his dancing to get a drink, drowned it and went back to the dancefloor. The more alcohol in his blood, the better. He swallowed a pill with it. Perfect. No more thinking until the day after tomorrow. 36 hours of pure bliss. Not exactly, of course, but for him it was always 36 hours. Even if he would faint after half an hour because he hadn't eaten, even if he would never stop dancing, cause the drugs were so good... it would ALWAYS be 36 hours.

"Whatever doesn't kill ya... Only makes you stronger!" His brother could have all of the sitting-alone-in-a-library-and-reading-peacefully! Sherlock didn't care. If his brother wanted to get all high and mighty about his drug abuse, he didn't care. He never cared. He never gave a rat's ass about what his brother thought. His oh-so-smart-put-your-mind-to-a-better-use-brother! He could go to hell! Sherlock drowned another drink. Still too much thinking!

"Just dance, gonna be okay... Just dance, spin that record babe..." and that was what Sherlock did. He danced and danced, swirled around like his life depended on it. With closed eyes it didn't matter how these stupid people were dressed, what they were shouting at each other, how ridiculously they behaved. Just keep on moving, never stop... never ever stop... Everything will go away... Everything will be just fine... everything...

"Ouch! Watch where you're going, mate!" Sherlock opened his eyes to snap at the man who had interrupted his not-thinking... and stared right into two blue, soft eyes. It might be his drug-infused brain, but he found those eyes immensely calming. "Hello? Anyone home?" Sherlock realized that he was still standing in the man's way. He looked the guy up and down. Bit smaller than him, but broad-shouldered, probably military... "NO!", Sherlock shouted. The man just starred at him. "You're a lunatic then?" "I was NOT thinking and you spoilt it! You spoilt it all!" The man's stare became more intense.

Sherlock shivered. Was this a normal reaction? The man looked straight into his eyes, seemed to look straight into his soul. "Did you use drugs?" Sherlock blinked, irritated. "Yes, but people think I'm a lunatic when I'm clean too, so that hardly makes a difference." "It makes a difference to me." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why?" "I'm a doctor." Sherlock laughed. "You want to pop outside?", the man asked. Sherlock nodded in agreement. The mostly shouted conversation was certainly not good for his vocal cords, which were essential for his work. And the not-thinking was spoilt anyway.

The man lead the way and soon Sherlock felt a fresh breeze against his heated skin. "Now, let me see your eyes." Sherlock chuckled. "You're gonna tell me your name before you start flirting?" "I wasn't..." Sherlock laughed. "Oh very funny," the man said and stretched out his hand, "Watson, John Watson." Sherlock shook his hand. "The name is Holmes, Sherlock Holmes... Afghanistan or Iraq?" "Pardon?" "Where were you stationed, Afghanistan or Iraq?" "How did you...?" "I'm a detective, a consulting detective, currently not working, now could we get this over with please, I would like to go back to not thinking, thank you very much." Sherlock suddenly felt very annoyed with the man. Who was he to interrupt him? Just some stupid NORMAL little man, not even decently drunk, what did he WANT in a place like this?

"Afghanistan... Can I see your eyes now?" John rubbed his temples, obviously had a long day. Sherlock lowered his head a bit, so the doctor could see his eyes better. "Yea, definitely dilated. What kind of drugs do you use?" "Synthetic, LSD mostly... and don't worry, I make sure that it's pure." "How do you 'make sure'? Detect it? Drugs are never safe! Especially not mixed with alcohol and you already had what... two drinks? Three?", John shouted angrily. The detective raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?" "I can smell it!", John ranted. "What do you suggest then? That I stay off the drugs?", Sherlock asked with an amused smile. The doctor seemed suddenly even more exhausted. "I might 'suggest' that, but you won't listen to me anyway, will you?"

Sherlock considered that. "No," he finally said, "probably not. Except if you know another solution to my problem." "What is your problem then?" "I can't stop thinking." John laughed. "You can't stop thinking..." "No, my mind just keeps on and on and on... what do you do after a long working day?" "Oh, the usual." "What is 'the usual'?" The doctor cleared his throat. "Hot shower, cup of tea, that sort of thing..." "And? Come on, you wouldn't almost blush when talking about a cup of tea!" "Well, there is wanking, of course." John cleared his throat again. "Always helps to relax." The detective scoffed at this. "I don't do this sort of thing." "What? You mean... never?" "I can't... well, anyway, that's hardly something which would stop my mind from wandering!" "You mean you can't get an erection?", John asked, his voice soft now. "But that's not that bad. There are... ways, you know? To help you with that..."

Sherlock smirked. "Was that an offer?" "No, no I wasn't, this wasn't..." Now the doctor was really blushing. "That wasn't what I was implying, no. I was just saying that it's fine, it's all fine. You don't have to worry about it. At your age, it's probably just temporary anyway." "I'm not worrying... but even when I... still could, it didn't help to keep my mind off things." "Well, there are different techniques and stuff..." The doctor trailed off. "Are you implying I'm doing it wrong?" Sherlock was suddenly angry again. "Not wrong, no... these mood swings, do you have them often?", John asked. Sherlock frowned. "I've always had them... but they have increased since I started taking drugs." "And the... inability to perform, did that increase as well when you started taking drugs?" "Might be, yes."

"There you have your reason, then," the doctor said. Sherlock slowly but surely got annoyed by the man. "I told you, wanking doesn't do anything to me. I just keep on thinking. There is one split-second I don't, obviously, but that's hardly worth the trouble." "When was the last time you had sex?", the doctor asked, suddenly bold. The detective snorted. "I don't waste my time with stuff like that." John's eyes went wide. "Does that mean...?" "That I'm a virgin? Yes. My brother finds it delightful as well. Are we done now?" "Yes, no, I mean..." The doctor wet his lip with his tongue. Maybe just nervousness, maybe not...

"You want to try it then?", Sherlock asked. "Try what?" "Try to help me?" "With what... oh... oh no, I wasn't..." "...making an offer. Yes, I got that. But you want to help me, you don't want me to take drugs and as I obviously can't achieve alone what seems to be oh so relaxing for you, maybe you can help me." John swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, closed it again, swallowed some more. "I'm not actually gay." "I don't care, I am cold!" Sherlock realized that his voice had turned whiney. He hated it when that happened. "I'll either go back inside or go home with you now." "That's not... well," John cleared his throat yet again, "that will be hardly feasible, the flat I currently rent is pretty small and..." "You come home with me then. And yes, I got alcohol. Whisky, in fact. Will get you reasonably drunk, so that you can tell yourself tomorrow that whatever happened happened because you were drunk. Can we go now?" "Yes, I'll just get my jacket." Sherlock gave him his ticket too and John got both of their jackets.

They made their way to Sherlock's flat in silence. From time to time, John stole a glance at the detective. Sherlock wasn't sure himself what he was doing. But he knew of course that sooner or later the drugs would get too much. That if he didn't find another way of emptying his brain, he would go crazy sooner or later. That it would be bad for The Work, too. Having arrived at the flat, Sherlock let the doctor in and offered him some whisky, which the doctor accepted eagerly.

"Ok," John said, putting his glass down after taking a few sips, "best place for this would be the bedroom, of course. However, if you find this too personal..." "Bedroom is fine," Sherlock interrupted. "Ok, then we're gonna need lube or something similar." "Will lotion do?" The doctor wrinkled his nose, but nodded in agreement. "Will do, yes. What is most important, though, is that you will have to try to relax. And whenever you feel uncomfortable with what I'm doing you are gonna tell me to stop, ok?" "Sure." "I mean it," John said, "I don't want to hurt you!" "Fine, fine, I will tell you if it hurts. Bedroom is this way."

Having already removed his coat at the door, Sherlock now started to shed the rest of his clothes. John awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed and waited. When the detective was done, he got the lotion out of a drawer and lay down on the bed. John started by stroking Sherlock's leg, the one which was closer to him. "It might be easier to relax if you close your eyes." The detective did so and soon felt the hand moving up his leg, closer and closer to his crotch.

"Feeling anything yet?" "Not much." "That's ok, just relax..." The hand had reached Sherlock's flaccid cock now, but moved over to the other leg instead, first caressing and then softly massaging Sherlock's upper leg. "You like that?" Sherlock made an approving sound. The doctor leaned down and started peppering Sherlock's leg with soft kisses while continuing massaging with his hand. After some time he used his tongue as well, leaving a wet trace on the detective's leg. Sherlock found it easier and easier just to concentrate on what the doctor was doing. The drugs were still having an effect on him as well, of course, but he already felt them wearing off.

John moved up Sherlock's leg with his mouth and was now nipping at it with his teeth. There was still no visible reaction on the detective's part, but he felt more and more relaxed now. After a while, the doctor sat upright again. "How do you feel?" "Good." "Let's move it to the next level then." With this, John put both hands on Sherlock's legs. One stayed on the task of massaging the detective's leg, while the other moved on to his cock. At first, John only circled the tip of Sherlock's cock with one finger. Then, he moved his hand up to the base of Sherlock's cock and started stroking slowly.

The detective made a very low voice, almost a purring. "You like that, don't you?" John asked. "Hmm." "You've got quite a big cock, you know... should we see if we can make it even bigger?" "Hmm." "Good," the doctor hummed. The detective realized that John was shifting his position on the bed all the time. "Just open your trousers if your uncomfortable." "Would that be ok for you?" Sherlock could almost feel the blush. "Sure." He felt the doctor's hands leave him, then heard the opening of a zip and a sigh of relieve. "Better now?" Sherlock smiled. "Much better," John confirmed. Then he turned his attention back to Sherlock's cock. But this time he used a bit of lotion, to make his hands slick. He was now stroking Sherlock's cock with one hand while he fondled his balls with the other.

The sudden attention to his sack did wonders for Sherlock. He moaned and slowly but surely his cock was growing. "Hm, that looks good," John said. "Does it feel good as well?" "Amazing," Sherlock answered, suddenly out of breath. "How do you want it? A bit quicker?" "Yes." "Ok, show me what you've got!" John started to stroke Sherlock's cock quicker, making him fully hard. "Oh, yes," Sherlock moaned, but quickly bit his lip. "Oh, don't hold back," the doctor encouraged, "let me hear how you like it." "Hm, yes, that's good, yes, like that." "What do you want? Tell me what you want!"

"I want, I want..." Sherlock's eyes flew open. "Don't panic," John calmed him, "whatever it is, you can have it. I can give it to you." "Oh God," Sherlock moaned. Then he pulled his legs up and lifted his ass a bit from the mattress. "Touch it, touch my ass." John moved the hand from Sherlock's sack deeper and cupped one arse cheek. "Both, take both," Sherlock moaned. The doctor complied, massaging both of Sherlock's cheeks. "Is that good?" "Oh god, yes, so good." Sherlock pushed into John's hands, now fully hard. "What else? What else do you need?" Again, Sherlock panicked a bit, his mind going blank and he couldn't think of anything.

"Shush, it's ok, I got you," the doctor said, removing one hand from Sherlock's arse again and starting to stroke him again, harder this time. "Oh yes, oh yea, oh my God, hm, yea" Sherlock was getting really oral now and the doctor started to have difficulties staying still in his pants. "Show me your cock," Sherlock said. "You sure?" "Yes!" John moved the hand from Sherlock's arse and got his cock out. Sherlock moaned louder. "Rub it against me... hm... against my ass!" The doctor moaned as well now, unable to keep still and moved closer to Sherlock on the bed. The detective opened his legs wide and John moved between them, pushing his trousers and pants down on the way.

After some rearrangement, John's cock finally rested against Sherlock's arse. It wasn't actually a comfortable position, as John couldn't move properly anymore, but his hand was still on the detective's cock and that seemed to be enough. Sherlock moaned loudly and trashed both against John's cock and hand. The doctor pumped him even harder and pushed his cock against Sherlock's arse. "Yes, oh God, yea, John, John, Johhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhn!", Sherlock shouted and came all over John's hand and his own stomach. The doctor, already almost driven over the edge by the expression on Sherlock's face, let go of his cock and grabbed both of the detective's legs. He then rhythmically pushed against Sherlock's arse and soon came grunting, shooting sperm on and between the detective's arse cheeks.

With another grunt John lay down on Sherlock, completely exhausted. The detective smiled up at him. "Nice job, doctor. But who did you actually want to relax, yourself or me?" "Oh, shut up, you git," John said, pushing himself up a bit on his hands, which he had placed next to Sherlock's head. The detective started to laugh and soon they were both giggling.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When John woke up the next morning, he at first didn't know where he was. And on whom he was lying. Then it all came back to him.

"Oh buggering hell," he murmured and tried to get up, but two strong hands held him in place. "Don't go yet," Sherlock grumbled. "Let me go," John said, trying to brake free. He was lying between the detective's legs, his chest on Sherlock's and dried sperm between them. "Ew, that's disgusting, Sherlock let me go!" "No morning sex then?", Sherlock ventured, his eyes still closed. And the detective was beautiful, his skin like marble and his brown curly hair in disarray…

John forced himself away from the sight and tried to get up again. With a bit of careful force he managed to escape the detective's grip. Sherlock opened his eyes. Pale blue and still soft with sleep. John shook his head and stumbled over to his clothes, which were lying in a heap on the floor. "Shower, then?", Sherlock asked, his voice a low rumble. John almost fell over his clothes.

He sighed. "No, I think I'll better go." "I thought it's disgusting?", the detective asked. "Sorry?" "The sperm on your stomach," Sherlock explained, looking the doctor up and down, "...and thighs." John cleared his throat. "Well, yes, of course… I will take care of that later," he said and started dressing. The detective frowned. "I don't think it's disgusting."

John, who already had one leg in his trousers, almost fell over at that. "What?" Sherlock frowned some more. "You've heard what I said. I don't think it's disgusting. It's quite arousing, actually." The doctor looked over to the detective and one moment later wished he hadn't. Sherlock's dick started to stiffen again. This time John did fall over, straight on his face.

Sherlock got out of bed and walked over to him. "You're alright?", he asked, leaning over the doctor. With some difficulty – and Sherlock's helping hand – John got up again. "No, I'm NOT ok. I just woke up in a stranger's bed with a naked man under me and dried sperm all over me," he shouted. Sherlock looked down on him, still holding his hand. "And you're not gay." "Exactly."

"Ok, here's an idea," Sherlock said, "you're a doctor, right? And you're probably not earning that much money. So what if I paid you?" John stared at him, taking his hand away from the detective. "WHAT?" "Oh, not for that, don't be daft… but you could be… my companion or something." "Like in doctor Who?", John asked. The detective only looked at him blankly. "Oh, never mind… and what would I be doing as your 'companion'?" "Well, we would solve crimes together, of course. Quite impractical to carry a skull around at all times, to be honest. And you can be my doctor as well. Make sure that I always feel relaxed."

John opened his mouth and closed it again. There was so much he could say to that. So much he WANTED to say. He didn't understand the part with the skull, for example. But all of his blood seemed to have suddenly left his brain and gone into lower regions. There was only a small voice left in his head which kept chanting "sexsexsexsexsexsex". Yes, it was true that he hadn't had any for a while, but couldn't his body stop betraying him, just for ONE minute, so he could finally get dressed?

Sherlock looked John up and down and said: "I see you agree." "I'm not… I didn't…," John stuttered. "Come back to bed, John." "You mentioned a shower," the doctor said, stupidly. "Oh, fine," Sherlock huffed, "come on then, I'll lead the way." John followed the detective into the bathroom, where the detective stepped right into the shower. "I… um… thought you would let me shower first," the doctor said. Sherlock huffed again. "Come on, John, the shower is big enough for both of us." John somehow knew where this would end, but he had an erection, Sherlock had an erection, clear thought could wait. Besides, this was all just a dream... surely.

John stepped into the shower and Sherlock turned the water on. For some time, the doctor just enjoyed the warm water running down his body. It was one of this rainforest showers, which felt like there was a waterfall coming down on you and it was REALLY big enough for the two of them. Then Sherlock asked: "So, can I wash you now?" "Um, sure." He closed his eyes and just enjoyed Sherlock's warm hands on his chest, on his stomach and thighs. Thighs felt especially good and when the detective started massaging them, he couldn't suppress a low moan.

"I liked the way you talked to me yesterday," Sherlock said, "the way you talked about my cock." "Hmm." "I've read that people do to their sex partners what they want to be done to themselves… do you want me to talk to you like that?" "Hmm, yes." "Yours is big too, you know. Not so long, maybe, but I like them thick."

John's eyes shot open. "I thought you were a virgin." Sherlock chuckled. "Well, I like yours better than mine, so I guess it's cause yours is thicker." "Makes sense," John hummed and closed his eyes again. "So you like it that I'm a virgin?" "Yes, means you're clean." "I take drugs." "Only synthetic… and you haven't done this for a long time now. I'm a doctor; I can see the signs…" Sherlock laughed. "Good work, companion. And you're clean too, of course." "Yes." "Wasn't really worried about that anyway. "You're a doctor; you know how to protect your big cock."

Sherlock moved one hand to John's hard-on now, softly touching the tip. "You like it slow, doctor?" "Hm, yes." The detective slowly circled the tip of John's cock with his finger, his other hand moving to its base. "Wonder if I could get it all in my mouth," he said. "Oh, yes." "You'd love that, wouldn't you? Me sucking your big thing off in the shower. I would make you come so hard." "Hm, yes, oh God." Sherlock slowly started pumping John's cock. "It's so hard now and already leaking. Turns me on so much."

John opened his eyes again and looked down on Sherlock. Wow, he really had the most amazing hard-on. Slightly curved, pre-come glistening on its tip. If he could just touch it? Well, if this was all a dream, he could do anything, right? John took Sherlock's cock in hand and the detective moaned in response. "Yea, like that, I love your hands. They are so strong. Oh yea, let me give it to you. I want you to come, see your sperm shooting out." "Yes, do it, harder, nnnnnng, oh Jesus, yes!", John shouted. He was almost there.

"Tell me what you want," Sherlock said, "tell me how you want it." "Want to come… nnnng... all over your face." The detective kneeled down in front of John, who reluctantly let go of his cock. "Come on then," he said, "paint my face with your come." Sherlock was pumping John's cock faster and faster, massaging his balls with the other hand. "Want to see you pulse and shoot your load on me." John couldn't hold back any longer. "Yes, oh God, Yes, Sherlock, Sherlock, ooooooooooooh yes, SHERLOCK," he shouted and ejaculated on Sherlock's face.

The detective got up again gracefully and turned around, bracing himself against the wall and spreading his legs. "God, John, do me now, I need it!" When the doctor had calmed down a bit, he got on his knees himself. Sherlock talking about oral stimulation had given him an idea. He would make the detective really enjoy himself.

John put both hands on Sherlock's ass and spread it open a bit. Then he put his tongue out and started licking the detective's hole. "Oh God, John," Sherlock moaned. "Do you like that?" "Oh yes, more." Sherlock tried to push his hips back, but John held them in place. "Hold still, git," he said and smacked the detective's left cheek. "Oaah, yes," "Like that too, don't you?", the doctor giggled and smacked him again. "John," the detective said sharply, "would you get down to business again, please?" John chuckled. "Another time then," he said and focused on Sherlock's hole again.

With a bit help of his fingers and spit, the doctor soon managed to get his tongue inside the hole. Sherlock squirmed again under his administrations and moaned loudly. "Oh, yes, John, like that. Deeper. Yes, fuck me with your tongue. Yes, God you're good." The doctor pushed deeper and harder and soon Sherlock was shouting. "Yes, John, yea, I'm close, ooooooh!" John put one arm around the detective and just touched Sherlock's cock once and that was enough. The detective came with a shout, shooting his sperm all over the tiles.

After cleaning themselves (and the tiles) up, John and Sherlock stumbled out of the shower, both red-faced and out of breath. The detective picked a towel up from the floor and started rubbing John dry with it. "That was really an interesting experience," the doctor remarked. "Yes, certainly an exactable way of starting the day," Sherlock agreed. He hesitated. "Even if you're not gay." John laughed. "Oh sod 'gay', I'll only shag detectives from now on." Sherlock frowned. "Only consulting detectives, I hope?" John smiled up at him. "Of course."


End file.
